


Cogito, ergo non sum

by LegitimizedGangsterIdiots



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, I like this though, and i thought that some of you may like it as well, but i have never finished a multi chap fic in my life, hilbert is straight up not having a good time, it was originally meant to be the first draft of a multi-chapter fic, rené descartes would not stan this fic, so here you go, takes place an unspecified amount of time after his unfortunate demise, this has been a draft in my google doc for forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegitimizedGangsterIdiots/pseuds/LegitimizedGangsterIdiots
Summary: Hilbert rediscovers consciousness and struggles with ontology.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Cogito, ergo non sum

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody help him.

Awareness came slowly. One moment, there was nothing. The lonely reality of a cessation of sentience. The next, a buzzing, just at the edge of consciousness. It morphed into a feeling, a sensation of being, very much different than the sensation of nothing, which is the lack of anything. A Not Being like what it is to be just beyond the edge of the universe.

This buzzing feeling had replaced anything he might have once described as his limbs. He noted this observation right after re-discovering that he was a he. And that he had had limbs. Which was shortly followed by the realization that he no longer had limbs. Just the buzzing. Just the Being.

He could think, and this was comforting. A buttress against the panic he could feel developing throughout his whole consciousness. He could think. Think of who he was. Think clearly. His thoughts were choppy, but that was to be expected. Panic is inevitable in the face of the unknown. Calm down. _Calm down._ This is a puzzle to solve. Ask questions, find answers. This is what he could do. This is what he had always done. 

First, a question. What was his name? What did he call himself? Just on the tip of… No tongue. He could have sworn he had a tongue. A name. What is a name? He knew that answer. A tool to get what you want. To expedite the necessary, without those pesky attachments. Without the painful memories. A tool for progress.

Progress. He had wanted progress. He had used new names for the benefit of progress. Of development. Of overcoming death. His consciousness ran away from the word. He had been Dmitri. But Dmitri had not served his needs, so he became Selberg. Selberg had failed him, so he became Hilbert. What had Hilbert become?

_What have I become?_

_I am._

_I am Hilbert._ No, that had never felt right.

Dead? He was dead. No. No, he wasn't dead. He could not think and be dead. Wasn't that impossible?

_I think therefore I am._

He had always hated Descartes. 

Hate. He could remember his hate. He had had a close relationship with hate. He had hated death. He had hated the inevitable. He had hated so fully. Viciously. Life had been easier when others hated him. He had wanted to be left alone, hated, full of hate. But, despite all his efforts, he had hated being alone. Where was that hate now?

_Alone should be afraid of us._

Had hated. Had. Everything in the past perfect. Had done this, had done that. What was he doing now? 

He was afraid now. Or maybe not. Something on the periphery of himself was panicking, and yet he was not a part of it. Was he more than one? Was he split into many, a multiplicity of himself? How would that work? It was too frightening to rationalize. He was afraid. Or someone was. Of the multiplicity of it all. 

Was he dead? The word echoed through everything like an explosion. Dead? _Am I dead?_

He couldn't be a multiplicity if he were dead. He couldn't be this scared if he were dead. So he must not be dead. God, he hoped this wasn’t death. 

_I think, therefore._

So then, he must exist. To be not dead is to exist, and existence needs a physical location. A place to exist. Unless all the known laws of physics were betraying him, he must be somewhere. Where? He can’t open his eyes to see, to observe. Does he even have eyes?

_Therefore I am._

He still cannot feel his limbs. Instead he feels the buzzing.

_I am. Where?_

The panic is growing, pushing into the headspace he had carved out for himself. Can he exist if he is not anywhere? He feels as though he takes up space, but he does not know how he feels it. It’s like the information is poured into his brain without any conduit through which to receive it. Everything is buzzing, a low hum. He cannot tell how he hears it. He is in a space that buzzes, like electricity. An electric space.

That's it! A spark of hope. He's identified one of the several alarming phenomena plaguing him. Electricity, the buzzing sounds like electricity. Discharged from where? Where is it coming from? One answer brings a hundred more questions. He feels like he’s dying. He feels like he’s already dead. This can't be death. It can't. _I_ _t can't._

Afraid would not be present in death. _Please, let this not be death._ He had always counted on oblivion. Whatever this was, it was not oblivion. Is he panicking or is he dead? _No. No, don’t panic. Stop. Think. I think. I think I died. How could I think if I were dead?_ _I think I died._ A statement so contrary to reason, it hurt his very core to process. _I think, therefore I am, yet I think I died._ Past tense. Died. _Am dead. I think, therefore I am not._

Descartes would not like this at all.

This multiplicity was exhausting. Innumerable points of awareness, and how do they help? Not at all. Epistemological threats on his mind. He could have sworn being alive did not feel like this.

In the background of his thoughts, the buzzing grew louder until it could not be ignored. Phantom pain shot through places he did not understand. Then it ceased suddenly, with a pleasant beep and soft whir.

And in a fraction of a moment, knowledge was dropped icy cold into his awareness.

No body, one consciousness, a multiplicity of feeling from innumerable circuits.

As the words 'Artificial Intelligence' dared to dip their icy tendrils into his mind, his thoughts alone could not protect him from the panic, and it consumed him.

**Author's Note:**

> this was stewing for a long time in my google doc. every so often i would go back and reread it, and get a lot of feelings, so i wanted to share it and see if anyone else liked it too. thanks for reading!
> 
> a lot of the philosophy stuff is inspired by the amazing pacific rim fanfic Designations Congruent with Things


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